


The Stars Are Out Tonight

by Honeythief



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bottom Dean, Episode: s04e18 The Monster at the End of This Book, Impala Sex, M/M, Rimming, Season/Series 04, Top Sam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-20
Updated: 2015-10-11
Packaged: 2018-02-26 09:56:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2647682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Honeythief/pseuds/Honeythief
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean finds something he isn't supposed to, triggering a chain reaction leading to stuff that wasn't necessarily meant to be included in the "Winchester gospel". But no matter what choices are made and what details are altered, the endgame stays the same.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Sore and raging, Dean banged his fist on the door, the rattling sound of battered glass tearing through the street's silence like thunder. After three seconds of nothing, he reached for the handle and gave it a few, harsh pulls, surprisingly causing the door to creak open. Not waiting for an invitation, he barged straight in, clear intent on his mind.

One thing was for certain: dude had to be dabbling in some serious mojo-hoodoo-witchcraft whatever. Dean might as well tear this whole craphole up - all the way down to the foundations, just to unveil the source of this bullshit. And hell yeah, was it personal.

He entered Chuck's cluttered saloon, came to a halt right in the middle and looked around with scrutiny. The writer didn't get many visitors (if any at all) and lived the life of a drunken hermit while barely making ends meet with whatever crappy income he earned from those insolent books. If he didn't bother cleaning, would he even bother hiding stuff?

Dean began rummaging through his desk drawers - much like the rest of the domicile, hardly organized, littered with many kinds of mostly meaningless personal effects. Buried somewhere in-between thick stacks of paper was a black document case, clearly tucked away and probably not meant to see daylight. Within, instead of ominous spells and incantations, Dean only found more paper. It took him a while to realize what he was looking at. Unpublished scraps and drafts from Chuck's offending series, abandoned chapters and misfired storylines that, for some reason, had found their way in here instead of the trash can.

"Probably not our finest hours," Dean murmured and started reading a randomly selected page.

 _Oh._ This one was a gloriously classic example of Dean's pre-hell version of dealing with his problems - a juicy description of drinking himself to numbness, kicking Sam out to spend the night in the Impala and falling asleep while banging some bar skank on his brother's bed. Apparently, he snored very loudly, too.

"I did that?" he mouthed, frowning, then moved on to the next page.

 _Sam sat silently in his usual seat. His handsome visage seemed brooding and pensive, still bearing signs of hardship from their last hunt. Dean_ _was currently occupied with howling along to "Smoke on the Water" for what appeared to be the fifth time tonight. Watching him, Sam couldn't help but immerse in painful thoughts of things still left unsaid, mercilessly torn asunder by a storm of conflicted yet fervent feelings. If only Dean knew--_

"Knew about what, Sam?" Seeing as the script had been aborted at the most crucial moment, the elder Winchester could only hope that whatever "conflicted yet fervent" feelings Sam was bottling up inside him at the time were no longer a secret now.

Inexplicably fascinated by the off-record material, Dean kept flipping through the folder's contents.

And for one moment, he lost his ability to breathe.

_[...] but then Sam realized it probably was their last night stargazing together on the hood of the Impala, and his heart clenched painfully, aching as if pierced by a thousand poisoned needles. For the first time in forever, he considered telling Dean about his unbrotherly feelings. Even if just this once, he wanted to give himself over completely to that sweet bliss of forbidden fantasies. If not for the perspective of spending their last days together in a bitter and awkward atmosphere, he would have captured his brother's lips in a passionate kiss and taken his breath away, only to never let him go again. The night was warm and silent, save for the pleasant sound of chirping crickets. The ink-black sky was clear and vast, stripped out bare for anyone to marvel at, and yet Sam found out he'd rather be looking into Dean's bright eyes, for they shone more beautifully than all the stars above them._

"Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fucking fucked up mother of fuck." Dean slammed the folder shut and shoved it back into the drawer, holding the page at arm's length as if it were a cursed object or a dirty diaper. He just stood there for a longer while, staring blankly at the words with eyes wide and mouth agape. Releasing the breath he'd been holding, he strode up to the armchair and sunk heavily into its uncomfortable cushioning, completely forgetting about his minivan accident or the fact that some shaggy writer-wannabe had been using their lives as a meal ticket with total impunity. All he could think of was this little shit bit of text that dared imply that Sam was _freaking in love with him._

He eyed the fragment with contempt - it seemed to stare back at him mockingly, throwing him a challenge: what are you gonna do?

And all Dean wanted to do was to squeeze his fist around the paper, slowly and deliberately until nothing's left but a miserable, creased mess. He wanted to laugh it off, call ridiculous and dunk it into Chuck's overfilled garbage can, right where it belonged.

_Bacon cheeseburger. Minivan. Stars. Pink flower band-aids. Plastic tarp._

Problem was, Chuck hasn't been wrong yet. _"There's a first time for everything,"_ Dean thought as he folded the page and slipped it inside the pocket of his jacket, heart still hammering in his chest. _"Or maybe it's just some of that slash-fan piece of crap again."_

Chuck chose the perfect moment to come home - his presence reminded the hunter of the more pressing matters at hand. Dean mentally slapped himself, willing his mind to focus on their main concern; Lilith. That, and getting little Chuck here to spill his guts about them visions.

***

The brothers were both super-fried. Sam was dying for a shot of his medicine - that itch under his skin, the dull, alarming throb in his veins turned more persistent every day and hour, and his rendez-vous with Lilith certainly did nothing to soothe it. He shouldn't go around wasting time like that when he clearly wasn't strong enough to face her yet. Instead, he was being held back by the very person he'd started all this for in the first place. It was frustrating on levels he couldn't begin to describe.

The preposterous talk of prophets and the entire crazy affair with Lilith had successfully kept Dean's mind off the elephant in the room. The moment he stepped through the motel doors, it returned to nag at him again. Normally, he'd simply let himself stew in all his insecurities like he always did, but _this_ \- this had to be clarified, face-to-face, once and for all.

"Sam, hold up. There's something else." Dean tried to keep cool, but the wavering of his voice still betrayed nervousness. Sam stopped and turned, giving him a look that said everything but "yeah Dean, sure, let's talk some more, cause I still haven't had enough of your questioning and lecturing and probing, awesome."

"Can't it wait until morning, Dean? I just want to hop in the shower and call it a day already, man."

Dean cut straight to the chase. He withdrew Chuck's draft from his pocket and handed it to his brother without a word. He observed in silent anticipation as Sam unfolded it with a curious frown, eyes skimming quickly over the text. His jaw tightened as he took everything in, but other than that, his poker face portrayed no emotions.

"And... what exactly is that supposed to be?" Sam locked eyes with his older brother, determined to stay professional. He's had this conversation with Dean before, after all. Playing out over and over in his head, different scenarios, different reactions. He never expected it to get real right here or right now, but he was prepared nonetheless.

"You tell me. I found it at Chuck's. Care to comment?" Dean hated the way the other hunter seemed to have everything under control despite standing accused of potentially incestuous inclinations. He should be abashed, guilt-ridden or-- well, something! So how come Dean was the one feeling cornered?

"I don't really know what you expect me to say," Sam shrugged, simply. He played his 'indifference' card perfectly. Did Dean honestly presume he'd kneel and beg for forgiveness? All that shame, self-hatred, remorse... no matter what he says, no matter how hurtful it may be, Sam refused to feel that way ever again.

"Is it true, for starters?" the older hunter barked out the question much more harshly than he'd intended. Sam winced.

"Well, you said it, Dean. Everything Chuck writes is true, so yeah, the general idea's pretty much what it is," he tapped the page with two fingers, his tone practical and collected as though he was introducing Dean to a potential case.

"Are you-... are you out of your damn mind? How can you say it so calmly?" Dean hissed in reply and stepped closer, hoping to read something from his brother's eyes.

"Cause... I've gotten over it?" Sam snorted, amused.

 _Amused_. He found it fucking funny. Dean's stomach sunk - it felt like someone was trying to wring his guts out. Was it anger?Humiliation?  _Disappointment?_

"Just like that? Wow. Cause I could _swear_ that it happens right before I go to hell. Oh, yeah, and you being 'over it' totally makes all that okay, too. It still happened, Sam!" Crap, he was starting to lose his composure. Real smooth, Dean. Nice work.

Sam always knew it would be that way. This worst-case scenario was also the only plausible scenario. Dean would be disgusted, taken aback, horrified. Next thing, he would try to blame himself. Cause it always had to be his fault, didn't it? It was easier to accept the blame than to admit his little brother was a perverted fuck-up. Realistically, this was the only way it could ever turn out to be - he knew that, and it still hurt like a motherfucker.

"So what? What do you want me to do about it? It happened, so it happened, now it's not like that anymore at all. It's fine. It was a mistake. And you're overreacting. _Again_."

"Sure, Sam, whatever. I bet it's just me being paranoid. Demonic powers _and_ incest - that your definition of fine?"

"Look, just forget it, all right? It was a dumb phase, and Chuck oversold it, just like he oversold Lilith! There was no 'throes of fiery demonic passion' crap, just like there was no-... hold it," he fumbled for the paper and picked up reading: "...no 'sweet bliss of forbidden fantasies' crap either. I mean, come on!" he quoted sarcastically.

Dean nodded slowly, biting his lip. He raised his hands in defeat and said:

"Okay. Can't say that I'm not relieved. But Sam, if this is another lie, then so help me, I will end you." With that, he grabbed his car keys and swung the doors back open, desperately wanting to escape the suddenly stuffy room. "I need some air," he mumbled before parting.

Sam didn't try to stop him. Only when he heard the familiar roar of Impala's engine recede did he allow himself to let his facade crumble. He sighed shakily in attempt to calm himself down, eyes prickling with tears. Before he could manage to break down completely, he was startled by the sound of his ringtone. He sniffled, blinked the tears out of his eyes and answered the call.

"Yes?"

"Um, Sam? Hello?"

"Chuck?" This couldn't be good. The hunter closed his eyes as if praying for patience and ran his fingers through the mess that was his hair.

"Hey, uhh, I just wanted to say... I think... I think you should go talk to Dean? If you don't mind me suggesting, that is?"

"I just did and it's the last thing on earth I wanna do right now." Truer words haven't been spoken that day.

"Um. Maybe you should reconsider? Respectfully, I mean?" After that, Sam was quiet for a while.

"Chuck, what did you see?" he demanded in a hard voice, suddenly wary and bracing himself for another round of bullshit.

"Not that you'd really care, but... um, as a matter of fact, Dean is..." The prophet was seemingly struggling to find the right way to put it. What kind of writer is at loss for words? Sam waited patiently for him to finish stuttering. "...on his way to a bar right now, but if you don't stop him, he's gonna... he's gonna get drunk and beat the hell out of me, so just _please_ try to talk some sense into him? I mean, I'm not at fault here! I just do my work, which happens to be heaven's will, so there's nothing really I can do about it, you feel me? A-and, I don't deserve to get my nose broken for that!" Once he'd stumbled through the initial part, words started pouring out of him at an impossible speed, frantic and desperate.

"And... you seen that? In your vision, that is?" Sam chortled, relieved that the allegedly serious emergency was nothing more than Chuck being a coward. He was _so_ done with serious for today.

"Yeah, only just know- I-I don't even have anywhere to bail, unless I can crash at-"

"No," Sam cut him off hurriedly. "Don't you have a pet archangel?"

"Err, in my vision, he doesn't seem to give two shits? Maybe because it's not life-threatening enough?"

 _"Or maybe because Dean's still on the VIP list upstairs,"_ thought Sam gloomily, but replied:

"All right, settle down. For one, what makes you think I can stop him? Secondly, I think we've done enough fate-diverting for one day, hmm? So how about you just man up?"

...

...

"I'll tell him about the blood."

Sam inhaled loudly. "You wouldn't dare," he growled.

"I'm sorry, Sam. Maybe he'll lay off of me and sit on you instead. Good luck." With that, he hung up. Sam cursed out loud and rage-threw his phone on the bed.

***

Dean set sails for the nearest bar - cause really, where else could he go? He briefly considered swinging by Chuck's and beating him into a bloody pulp, but getting his ass smitten by an archangel was kind of discouraging.

He collapsed onto the first unoccupied bar stool, ordering shot after shot of bourbon.

Dean remembered that night like yesterday. It was one of the few happy memories he'd made before his trip downstairs. He remembered the night precisely as Chuck described it - wonderfully starry, peaceful and magical. They were sprawled out on the hood of the Impala, sipping the cheapest beer they could get, enjoying each other's volatile company as another day brought them closer to the inevitable. Neither said much, their silence comfortable and fulfilling - Dean wasn't one for soulful conversations anyway. And now, he'd wonder, despite himself: what would have happened had Sam gone through with that kiss? How much different their relationship would be right now? He tried picturing it. He saw their lips meeting, the flabbergasted look on his own face. But he didn't see himself pushing Sam away. He was reciprocating, tentatively - and that image, to his horror, didn't seem grossly out of place, perverted or blasphemous - on the contrary, it seemed awfully right in that serene moment, intimate and perfect. Subsequently, he imagined the touching, the proximity, the combined heat of their bodies pressing together, the--

"What's eating at you, handsome? Troubles in paradise?" A female voice pulled him abruptly out of his daydreaming. He lifted his head from above his drink and sent the bartender a crooked smile. She was hot, ginger and nicely endowed in all the right places. The Dean Winchester he always was would never pass up on such a delicious offer. Then again, tonight wasn't the night.

"Oh, sweetheart, believe me, there is no paradise for guys like me." He didn't care that it sounded like the typical, cheap bad-boy act. It was the truth. She arched an eyebrow and kept prodding:

"That so? What'd you do, hmm? Relax, you can tell me. I get all kinds of crap every day."

 _"Meh, nothing much, just recently fantasizing about getting it on with my little brother. No biggie._ _Oh, a_ _nd have I told you how my weak, sorry ass broke the first seal and started the Apocalypse? Fun times."_

"Huh. So tell me, then... what's the weirdest... and I mean _the_ freakiest crap you've ever heard a customer spill after a couple beers?" is what Dean said, but "please, shock me, so I can take comfort in knowing that I'm not the most fucked-up dude on the planet" is what he meant.

She leaned in closer when he didn't really want her to and replied sultrily:

"That would make me untrustworthy, don't you think? And I'd really like to prove reliable enough to know _your_ secret." She reeked of sickeningly sweet perfume, her breath was too minty and her tits too round to be considered real.

"Look, lady, not for nothing, but I'm not exactly the sharing n' caring kind of guy, not to mention that I'm really not in the mood for _that_ tonight. What I'm in the mood for is another round of this," he gestured toward his empty glass of whiskey, eyeing the bartender expectantly.

"Okay, douche," she mumbled indistinctly and turned around to grab the bottle.

"He's good, thanks." All of a sudden, a large hand covered Dean's glass, preventing the hunter from getting his refill. The woman only shrugged and went back to minding her own business.

"What the- what the hell are you doing here?" Sam tumbled down on the seat next to him, wearing one of those sassy smiles that Dean hated to love. "How'd you even get here? Your demon mojo got enough juice to teleport now or what?"

"I took the cab, Dean," Sam laughed. "I'm here to get your ass home."

"Home? Oh, you mean the dingy motel with one channel and no Magic Fingers? No thanks," he snorted.

"Yeah, there. Come on. Give your liver a rest," he nudged his head towards the exit, wishing it were that easy to drag Dean out of this dump. But things were never easy with Dean. _"Damn. I should have brought pie as bait."_

"Why do you care?" Dean blurted out, turning to glare at his brother.

"Apparently I do. So are you coming or do you want to waste more time on this pointless debate?"

Dean took out his wallet, slammed a bunch of dollars on the counter and got off his stool.

"Yeah, let's roll. You take your cab back to that shithole, and I'm off to pay Chuck a visit." Having said that, he hesitated for a while. "There _is_ still some booze left in the trunk, isn't there?" he asked, feeling obscenely triumphant upon seeing Sam's flawless bitchface.

They walked out the bar into the parking lot. Approaching the Impala, Dean started fumbling for the keys. He checked his pockets once, twice, then stopped, confused.

"Lost something?"

Oh, _no_. He _didn't._

"Hilarious, Sam. Congrats. Give 'em back, you pickpocketing bastard!" Dean was ready to start throwing fists, since nobody crossed _that_ line. Ever.

"You're upset," the other hunter stated, very helpfully so.

"No shit. Keys, now!"

"Not unless you tell me what's going on in that angsty, self-loathing noggin of yours."

"Well aren't you a smartass," Dean bit off, reaching to reclaim the keys to his baby. Sam stepped back, waving the jiggling bundle above his head, having way more fun teasing Dean than it was appropriate.

"Nuh-uh. I'm waiting. Going once... going twice..."

Dean chewed on his lower lip, anger and frustration boiling up inside him. To no avail did he try reaching within his inner source of power and grasp onto the meager remnants of his wading self-control. This was just so fucking unfair. Sam was the one keeping secrets, banging demons and balancing on the edge of dark side! If anyone had anything to confess, why should it be Dean, when his answer to everything was always the love and concern he had for his brother?

"No? Fine, then I'm driving. Get in."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried my best to copy Chuck's writing style, but I just couldn't measure up to his level of awesomness ;_;


	2. Chapter 2

They rode in utter quietude for over ten minutes, air thick and heavy with negative aura. Sam swallowed around the lump in his throat and took a turn leading into a secluded, forest road. Soon enough, they found themselves stopping by a large meadow on the edge of the woods.

Dean groaned in realization.

"You've got to be kidding me."

"Well, the stars are out tonight," Sam shrugged, suddenly very proud of himself. "Almost a full moon, too. Care for a beer?"

Dean rolled his eyes, stepped out of the car and walked forward into the meadow. True enough, not even a single cloud obscured the impeccable view of tonight's sky. He smiled sadly, relishing in the nostalgia emanating from the scenery. Things used to be so much easier - two brothers on the road, saving people and hunting things, but most of all willing to sacrifice everything for one another. Pure, platonic love. Not this ambiguous relation layered with mutual dishonesty that left Dean wondering when and where along the way had they managed to lose all that?

"Here," he turned around and saw Sam sitting on the hood of their car, holding an opened beer bottle in his outstretched hand. Dean took it without a word and perched down beside him. The silence that settled between them was filled with uneasy questions and palpable tension of unknown origin. It made Dean unduly anxious, so he rushed to break it.

"Cut the crap, Sam. Why are we here?"

"Cause I was blackmailed by Chuck," Sam replied in all his seriousness. Seeing Dean's grimace, he continued before the other could butt in: "And since we're playing truth or truth, it's your turn now. What is your problem?"

Dean scoffed, shaking his head. "Sam, all we have is problems. Hell? Apocalypse? Dick angels? Any of these ring a bell? Why are we even talking about it? It's not like talking's gonna solve jack squat! It never does."

"No," he agreed. "But that's not what this is about. I'm your problem, and I don't wanna be. We're supposed to solve problems together, not create more. So let's just talk it out so we can get some rest, then focus on saving the seals." Sam's motives might not have been overly pure to begin with, but his intentions were genuine.

"True that, man. It was a long-ass day." Dean took a generous sip of his beer and looked up, the dazzling view giving him the encouragement he needed to finally voice his doubts. Never taking his eyes off the sky, he went on: "It's like... you're not even there, you know? For me, or at all. Like you're not yourself, and-... and you don't need me around anymore. But want it or not, I'm there. Even though it kinda sucks to know it's the latter," he laughed bitterly at the end, not wanting to sound overly dramatic.

Getting Dean to make a confession much like this one practically bordered on a miracle, so Sam learnt to heartily appreciate it whenever he managed to drag anything out of his stubborn brother. Especially since this was the closest thing to an "I love you" Sam was ever going to hear.

"I think you got the wrong impression, Dean. We're both dealing with an impossible situation the best we can, and we both want the same thing. Everything's just means to an end, and whatever happens between us in the middle of this shitstorm-... it doesn't change the fact that we're brothers, alright? I'm tired too, man. But I'm not tired... of you. How could you even think that I don't want you around? After four months of-" he paused, voice breaking, letting his brother finish the sentence for himself.

Dean didn't answer. He kept gawking at the bottle he was squeezing, twisting and twirling it between his hands. There was something else, still. His pouted lips were trembling slightly as if struggling to open.

That's when it hit him.

"You wanted it to be true," Sam whispered in awe, trying to get Dean's eyes to meet his. "Ohmygod. You wanted me to still-" he stopped, afraid he might say too much, heart racing furiously. Despite knowing that Dean was bound to deny it with every fiber of his being, Sam still awaited the answer with bated breath, filled to the brim with hopeful disbelief.

The response came a moment later, spoken in a barely audible voice.

"Yeah, it's weird, but I... I think I did, kind of... like, in the back of my mind, ya know? If that makes any sense? Doesn't matter now, though. Glad we're on the same page, bro," he got up heavily, giving Sam a tap on the knee.

The dreamlike idea of Dean accepting his feelings rendered Sam thoroughly speechless. Could it be actually possible for him to be aware of everything without shying away? The young hunter's mind was totally overcome, unable to produce a viable reaction.

"W-wait! What- so you mean you-...? Uhh, I wasn't really expecting-... so I- whoa, I-I... really don't know what to say?" Much like Chuck earlier this evening, Sam's brain failed to connect with his tongue, spouting jumbled nonsense and tripping over his own words. Deciding he'd do better with his mouth shut, he pierced Dean with the most intensive stare he could muster, hoping it would convey everything his voice failed to transmit.

Dean shot him a pitiful look and feigned annoyance at his flustered behavior, all while inwardly dancing with joy upon realizing that his brother still cared. A heated tingle settled deep in his abdomen when he remembered just _how_ he cared exactly. And fuck, did it make him insanely satisfied! After everything, Sam was still his - and Dean was inclined to become Sam's in any way he wanted, so he'd never even think of going near that demon bitch again.

They were growing apart. Sam was slowly slipping through his fingers. Something had to be done.

Dean approached him with a suggestive smirk playing on his sinful lips, and Sam felt like a pimply teenager beholding his first pair of boobs. He swallowed, motionless, forgoing breathing in favor of appreciating the shrinking distance between Dean's face and his own.

"You have so many freckles," he blurted out stupidly, unable to withhold the tension. Dean chuckled, lips lingering on Sam's cheek, arms sliding over his broad shoulders and hooking around his neck. They'd hugged before, sure, but it never felt quite this intimate - Dean's fingertips ghosting over his nape, playing with his hair, tightening around the hem of his plaid shirt. But perhaps most distracting of all was the hot breath blowing in his ear, sending wave after wave of pleasurable shivers down his spine.

"What's wrong, Sammy?" Dean whispered, lips tracing over his earlobe. His hand was now dangerously close to Sam's zipper, rubbing around the growing buldge in his pants. "You sure you're over me?" His voice descended into a sweet, naughty rumble, and Sam wanted nothing more but to reduce it into hoarse screams for more. He growled, snapping out of his hypnosis and smashed their lips together, ravishing his brother's mouth in a burning desire to claim. Two can play this game - and in the end, Dean was going to end up being the one to beg the other. Sam was willing to make every effort to ensure that. Dean could act all experienced if he wanted, but hiding behind trained confidence and fake macho bluff meant nothing tonight. Tonight, Sam wanted to strip off those layers and show him real pleasure.

His hands squeezed around Dean's ass, dragging him into his lap. The other hunter gasped and swayed his hips to the rhythm of Sam's grinding, hands flailing to rid him of unnecessary clothing. He ripped Sam's favorite shirt open, buttons snapping in protest. Not without a struggle, he broke away from their frenzied kiss in order to admire the freshly exposed field of smooth skin. Sam's muscles were firm all over, sculpted even more deliciously than he last remembered. Dean slid his hands across his brother's strong chest, slowly and reverently, before leaning in to suckle at the tattooed part of his collarbone. Kissing and licking his neck, he shoved a hand inside Sam's boxers and started jacking his cock with fast, blissful strokes, mouth returning to clash with Sam's again. And although Dean was new to the concept of wanting his brother that way, he kissed like he’s been hungry for it for years, refusing to submit to the urgent assault of the other’s tongue.

Sam groaned, letting Dean enjoy his little spree of dominance before slipping his rough hands underneath the hunter's black T-shirt, madly content to find out he had very sensitive nipples. Dean squirmed in his lap, arching into the touch and finally letting Sam take control of the kiss. His hand on Sam's cock slowed down, massaging it languidly as he melted under his brother's attentions.

"Dean, stop or I'll come," Sam panted against Dean's kiss-swollen mouth. Within seconds, he swiftly manhandled the confused hunter down on the hood of the Impala, face first.

"Ouch, asshole! Is that how you treat a lady? Geez!"

Sam ignored the protest and pressed against Dean from behind, humping his aching cock against the other's ass. He lifted his brother's shirt and began littering his skin with licks and kisses, traveling lower and lower until he reached that perfect curve of his lower back. Dean froze when Sam shoved his jeans and underwear down, just enough to hang limply around his legs, butt in the air. Not asking for permission, Sam spread Dean's cheeks and thumbed around his entrance, large hands kneading the hunter's firm ass before sliding slowly to caress his inner thighs. Dean sighed, amazed at his own lack of objection - only until Sam lowered himself on his knees, that is.

"Sam, what- stop, that's freaking nasty, don't-... ohh, shit... mmm..."

Sam started sucking, licking and lapping at his hole in a way that made Dean's fingernails scrape helplessly across the varnish, his little mewls spurring and turning Sam on to no end. He plunged his tongue deep inside, swirling it around enthusiastically in a circular motion, and Dean could only moan appreciatively and arch his hips back. Sam pressed a finger inside his hole, its tightness a clear proof of Dean's innocence (who knew he had any left?), which only prompted him to shove two more digits in, striving to take what no one else had before. Dean sobbed in delight as Sam fucked him with three fingers now, utterly mesmerized by the way his body was reacting to the stimulation.

By the time Sam finished the rim-job, Dean had turned into a pliant mess spread out on the cold metal surface, red-faced and burning hot from arousal. Unable to stall any longer, Sam tore his pants open and pushed his engorged prick between Dean's cheeks, ready to ram in. All of a sudden, the older hunter burst into uncontrollable laughter, his sweaty body shaking with convulsive giggles.

"What's so funny?" Sam hissed and pulled back.

"Nothing, it's just-" he laughed some more, tears welling up in his eyes. "That's just so fucking romantic. I'm about to take it up the ass, bent over the hood of my car like a cheap whore. Love underneath the stars, that is just-" The rest of the sentence died away in his cackling.

Sam snickered at the comment, smacked Dean's ass playfully and reached across to grab his unfinished beer. "You wanna move it inside then?" he asked around the bottle, never taking his eyes off his brother, still laid out before him like an offering.

Dean contemplated that alternative for a short while - bruises on his hipbones and strained muscles versus potential cum stains on his baby's upholstery? Pfft. Hardly a dilemma.

"Nah," Dean looked over his shoulder and groaned - Sam was right there, towering over him, all ruffled and predatory, dick standing proudly and leaking precome on his ass. "I'm comfy right here, Samantha."

Dean's chest was heaving rapidly from labored breaths, stomach clenching with excitement at the mere thought of getting pounded by his little brother. He's never been fucked before, so how come he was such a slut for it already? He spread his legs wider, exposing his licked-out hole in invitation. He was so horny that he'd probably do anything by now to get Sam to mount him.

"Well then buckle up, princess."

Dean might have managed to retain his snarky attitude up till now, but the rest of his bravado evaporated the moment Sam nudged the head of his fat dick against his entrance, breaching it cautiously. He shrugged Dean’s jeans off for easier access, leaving them to dangle miserably on his ankle as he pushed him further up the hood, settling between the hunter's sprawled legs. His eyes fluttered close before burying himself deep in Dean with one, firm push, fingers digging into his brother's flesh in attempt to stabilize the sweaty grip on his waist. Unable to wait any longer, he began pumping in and out, groaning out loud at the divine friction.

Whenever he was with Ruby, it was always quick and rough, with the sole purpose of getting off. Just simple, mindless fucking, a way to vent his frustration. With Dean, he wasn't planning to go gentle either - while his brother wasn't a demon, he could take it nonetheless. And besides, it was Sam's downstairs brain that was calling the shots now. It was carnal, sure, it was sexual, but it also meant the world to him. Right here and right now was everything, and damn if he ever felt even remotely like that with Ruby.

"Unhh-... geez, cowboy, s-slow down a little..." Dean rocked back and forth on the hood of the car, thighs crashing into the bumper with every harsh thrust.

Sam didn't listen. Instead, he stroked his thumbs alongside Dean's rim, willing it to spread and relax, then leaned forward entirely to cover the hunter's warm body with his own. He carried on by planting soothing kisses on his neck, fingers threading softly through short, sandy hair before sliding down to play with his nipples again. Hearing Dean's pleasured gasps, he jerked his hips harder and faster, pelvis smacking against Dean's asscheeks with loud, obscene slaps.

"Fuck, wanted it too damn long..." His hand reached around Dean's neck and grabbed his chin, twisting it to access his mouth. The hunter was already teary-eyed and flushed, brows furrowed and lips still that lovely shade of red. In a rush of possessiveness, Sam slammed their mouths back together, biting and snarling. Dean responded eagerly, suddenly all giggly again, arm shooting up to clench on Sam's unruly locks and pull him even closer. They moved together, fast and dirty, exchanging messy kisses and breathy moans. Dean's amulet swished around, slapping off of his chest to bang against the metal hood of the car, creating a thumping noise drowned out by its owner's loud cries of pleasure. His body was twisted awkwardly to the side and the constant hammering at his prostate made it difficult to hold the position, and yet he still stubbornly refused to let his brother go, clawing at him to keep upright. Noticing the struggle, Sam's long arms wrapped around his chest securely, still pummeling into his ass from behind.

"Aaah yeah, fuckin' fuck me, that's it, make me yours, oh god, Sam...!"

And Sam obeyed. He fucked him, hard and desperate, like he always wanted, like Dean begged him to, he fucked him good and stuffed him full, leaving room for nothing else but him and only him. Dean let himself be thoroughly claimed, drowning in all the new sensations.

There was no chance for either of them to last long while maintaining such a rapid pace. The younger hunter was close to tipping over the edge now, muttering all kinds of sappy, embarrassing nothings into his big brother's ear. _You're so beautiful. I never want to let you go again. You're mine. You're perfect. Don't want anyone else. I missed you so much. Can't live without you. I'm sorry I lied._ The sweet, affectionate words contrasted dramatically with the savage way he was ramming into Dean's pliant body, and Dean pretended he never heard those words. In their screwed-up kind of life, if something seemed too good to be true, it probably wasn't true. He sobbed and fumbled for Sam's hand, yanking it closer and pressing his mouth against it to muffle his grunts. The blissful heat in his belly kept building and building until he realized he was about to come. From being fucked. Like a girl.

Which should've been embarrassing, but with a last slam of Sam's cock against his prostate, he tensed and orgasmed, writhing and moaning wildly in satisfaction. Stricken by the force of Dean's climax, Sam pulled out just in time to spurt all over his sloppy, stretched hole, smearing his cum between Dean's cheeks and making a white-hot mess of his backside. The green-eyed hunter himself really couldn't care less - he flopped down, lifeless and sated, purring contentedly.

Sam was basking in his own afterglow when he remembered they still had to make it back to the motel. Ugh. Whatever happened to cuddling after amazing sex? With a huff, he tucked his reddened cock back in his pants and climbed off the hood. Damn, his muscles were jello.

"Hey. Get up," he poked Dean's shoulder, but the only response he got was a faint mumble. Just when he was about to drag him inside the car, Dean stirred weakly and groaned:

"You drive."

***

1967 Chevrolet Impala pulled up on the curb, tires screeching threateningly. The driver hit the brakes with momentum, pulled up the handbrake and switched off the engine, silencing the AC/DC recording that had been blasting through the speakers the entire way.

"Dean, just let it go," Sam tried one last time, not expecting his unimpressive attempt at persuasion to actually result. Predictably, Dean didn't even bother replying. He got out of the car, climbed a few steps onto the porch and pressed the doorbell. Sam sighed and followed him suit, doors opening almost immediately.

Chuck peered shyly from behind the frame, disheveled and unpresentable, wearing the same nightrobe as yesterday. Dean smiled at him broadly.

"Howdy there, Chuck! Looking fantastic."

The other man scowled, clearly not enthusiastic about letting them in. "What do you want from me?"

"Just a little chit-chat. We're leaving town, wanted to say goodbye. Mind if we come in?"

"I actually sort of do--"

He hadn't even finished speaking when Dean stormed right past him, forcing the door open. "Thanks."

After a brief moment of hesitation, Sam stepped in as well, smiling apologetically. "Sorry," he mumbled on his way.

"So," Dean clasped his hands together. "Thought you might want this back." He waved a creased page in front of the prophet's eyes.

"I really don't--" Dean slammed the paper on the desk, causing an avalanche of litter.

Sam frowned, deeply troubled. "Chuck. You ever consider... you know? Writing... _that_ stuff in?" he gestured towards the spot where Chuck's unpublished draft got swallowed by a sea of documents and beer cans.

Chuck turned visibly uncomfortable, eyes dancing crazily from one hunter to the other. "Um... not initially, no, but then I discovered I had a pretty large fanbase that actually wanted that to happen. You know the drill, err, the taboo brotherly romance stuff? It's kinda popular," he cringed when he saw Dean's face darken at that. "Figured I'd get more attention, more readers and whatnot, but I... I never went through in the end, figured it would--" he stopped mid-sentence, panic settling in.

"Ruin the story? Thanks."

"No- I meant... uh--"

Dean interrupted hastily, saving Chuck the trouble of having to explain himself: "Okay. It's been charming, but there's one thing that we need to make clear. No more books. And certainly none of this... taboo-romance-whatever bullcrap." 

"None," the prophet agreed hurriedly, nodding his head in understanding. "Now, is there anything else or?..."

"I almost forgot." Still wearing that creepy not-smile, Dean turned on his heel and took a swing at Chuck's jaw.

"Ow!" the writer stumbled back, crying out like a wounded animal. "You punched me! Asshole!"

"Yeah, sorry for the delay. It would have been your... what, second vision? To not come true? Can't have anyone questioning your authority as a prophet, now can we? Think of your reputation, man!"

Chuck just stood there, sulking and rubbing his face. He was fine. He obviously wouldn't be, had Dean punched him for real.

"Now we can be on our way," said Dean, visibly gratified. Sam shot Chuck another apologetic look, lingered in the saloon for an awkward moment, then waved him goodbye and ran after Dean.

He couldn't withhold a snigger as they left Chuck's house. "Can't avoid fate, huh?"

They were about to get in the car, when Sam stopped with his hand on the handle and asked:

"Hey, Dean..."

"Yeah?"

"You sure you're okay with... what happened last night?"

Gosh, those puppy-eyes again. A perilous weapon of mass destruction. Hyper-effective. Dean's heart instantly melted into a puddle. Fatality.

"No, I'm really not. We were supposed to focus on the seals, instead we're probably gonna bang on every surface within sight."

That was the plan. Dean wanted to assure that Sam's mind stays focused on screwing the living daylights out of him, not on trying to save the world with his demonic superpowers. If that meant manipulating and playing him - let it be so. End justified the means.

"You're such a jerk," Sam shook his head sassily and got in the car.

"You know you love me, bitch."

Sam did. That's why he was going to take matters into his own hands this time. That's why he was going to relieve his brother of the everlasting burden of having to look after his sorry ass. He wanted to keep him safe, out of the line of fire. Eat a bullet for him at least this once. And the only way to do that was behind his back, by choosing the path that Dean never endorsed. But end justified the means. After last night, he finally knew what it was like to truly have Dean, and he couldn't risk losing him again. _"Sorry, big brother. I need to trust myself on this one,"_ he thought. _"I--_

"I'M ON THE HIIIGHWAAAY TO HELL!"

Sam jumped in his seat as if electrocuted. He tried yelling at Dean to turn the volume down, using a wide array of bitch faces, but none of his efforts really fell through. Ironically, Dean kept his eyes trained on the road for once, going way beyond the speed limit, and - lord have mercy - singing along.

"HEY MOMMA! LOOK AT ME, I'M ON MY WAY TO THE PROMISED LAND!"

Sam just gave up and sunk into the leather seat with a sour face, plugging his ears to block out Dean's caterwauling.

"AND I'M GOING DOWN... ALL THE WAAAAY DOWN!"


End file.
